


tiny difference (between ending and starting to begin)

by sunforgrace



Series: SPN Stay at Home [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: #SpnStayAtHome | SPN Stay at Home Challenge, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Folk Music, Holding Hands, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Non-Explicit, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 15, Requited Love, Road Trips, feathers - Freeform, written pre s15e18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunforgrace/pseuds/sunforgrace
Summary: Sometimes Dean catches Cas staring at the sky.It doesn’t happen often. Not when Dean’s around to tell, anyway. But often enough that he starts to notice.Eventually Dean starts to recognize the pattern.Cas just doesn’t watch the sky. He watches the birds.Chuck is gone, Cas is human, and the world is safe. In the quiet aftermath Dean and Castiel find each other again.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Stay at Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700896
Comments: 17
Kudos: 172





	tiny difference (between ending and starting to begin)

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for the SPN Stay At Home event, for the Monday 1 prompt: Feathers. (Also written while listening to Harry Chapin, who I would very much recommend to all readers. More specifically, this was inspired by the song "Sequel" whose lyrics you can find in a scene of this fic.)
> 
> *The Empty Deal has been made null in this fic due to two factors.
> 
> *Written pre 15x18, so the events of that episode have not taken place and don't impact this fic. The love confession and the culmination of the Empty deal didn't happen.

Sometimes Dean catches Cas staring at the sky.

It doesn’t happen often. Not when Dean’s around to tell, anyway. But often enough that he starts to notice.

Sometimes he’ll just glance over and Cas will be standing there, trench coat floating easy on a breeze with his face turned up towards the sky. 

~~Does he look to Heaven, Dean wonders. Is Heaven a place in the sky?~~

Hell, it’s not like Cas hasn’t been vocal about his admiration of Earth’s beauty, or whatever. He’s witnessed Cas binge watching hours of those nature documentaries; the kind that even Sam has been known to yawn at halfway in. He’s seen Cas stare at a night sky dusted with stars, the amber glow of a setting sun. Dean knows that little smile Cas gets - that lives more in his eyes than his face - when he sees something beautiful.

But eventually Dean starts to recognize the pattern.

Cas just doesn’t watch the sky. He watches the birds.

…

They still haven’t talked about it.

The final battle of their lives, a cosmic finish line to their entire existences.

It had taken everything.

It had taken too much.

Defeating Chuck had taken. And taken. It tore away all that made Cas an Angel; his grace, his wings, his feathers. The only place for him in Heaven now was his own world of memories and Jack, who was taking care of business but always made time to come visit his human family. He was left human and broken and bleeding but _alive_. Alive. And how do you thank a God who’s forsaken you, a God you’ve destroyed, for the life of someone who’s everything? 

When Dean cradled Cas’ living human body to his chest he couldn’t thank God, but he found himself whispering _thank you_ over and over into the crook of his shoulder just the same.

Dean brought him home. And tucked him into a bed in the room that was close to his own. A room that had been Cas’ for years, but with a bed that had always been made, and lacking the small traces of a home. Such as the clothes that would begin to fill the closet and the drawers. First borrowed, and then wholly his own. Or the box of mix-tapes, steadily growing as Dean thinks of more ideas, more feelings he wants to show Cas through music. The pressed flowers in books he’s been reading, the small but growing collection of rocks and shells and precious things from nature. Or the open jar of peanut butter on the nightstand that Dean nags at him to _put back in the damn pantry Cas, that’s gross_.

Before Dean left for his own room that night, Cas’ hand shot out and gripped Dean’s shoulder. Dean was anchored to the bed in Cas’ gentle hold. Once upon a time the question Cas asked might have been, “can I stay,” with the wounds of wandering that never really healed. 

But the question Cas asked was this, “Will you stay?”

“Of course,” Dean answered.

Of course.

They both stay.

Dean takes care of him, in the ways he can. The ways Cas doesn’t just need, but wants him to. Not because Dean feels he owes him, never out of duty. But because Cas smiles at him and softly says, “thank you,” just for Dean making a peanut butter and honey sandwich. When he comes into the Dean-Cave with a stretch and a yawn and the sleepy comfort only truly found in someone who’s at home. When he turns back from the sky and finds Dean watching, and he smiles. 

It settles something heavy in his chest. An ache you may start to forget, for how long it’s been hollowed.

…

“We could go someplace,” Dean says into a comfortable nothing over coffee one Thursday morning.

“Where?” Cas asks. His bed head is flattened on one side with a pink pillow crease along his cheek. He has morning breath and hogs too much of the coffee and is just as grumpy as Dean when woken early.

And Dean knows.

“Wherever,” Dean feels the corners of his mouth rising. “Anywhere.”

They’re packed by late noon.

Sam doesn’t ask when Dean announces that they’re headed out.

Sam’s been calling Eileen most nights, and staying over at her home even more.

The thing about Sam is, for all his big talk about - well - _talking_ , the kid tends to keep some stuff, the really difficult stuff, deep inside. And he deals with it by attempting heart-to-hearts with others. His failsafe is to ask what they’re feeling, trying his best to help himself through helping others. Throwing a life-raft when you’re already drifting out to sea.

Dean sat quiet. Let him lick his wounds in peace. And he watched.

And when the smiles began to stretch too wide over his face, and Dean put blankets around his shoulders while his shaggy hair scattered against open books in the library, Dean knew it was time to sit next to Sammy with two beers and no words other than, “talk to me.”

Sam had just returned Dean’s gaze for a moment, and Dean watched as the denial and pain flashed over his face. Then Sam had hunched his shoulders, a towering 6’4” and ½ trying to be smaller.

But he spoke.

“Eileen and I … When she left. She said she doesn’t know what’s real anymore.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. He let the words sink in. Dean nodded, took a swig of his beer. Set it down on the table with a soft thud.

He thought about Cas’ voice, determined and _faithful_ saying, “We are.”

He thought of sinking to the ground and crying next to an ordinary tree, like any other tree of thousands in the bleached forest of Purgatory. Falling to his knees next to the ash outline of what used to be wings, next to the body that had been _his_ , that had been brought back for him time and time again. Brought back to Dean, somehow.

He thought of watching Cas leave. Always leaving. But this time knowing it meant not coming back.

He thought of all the times they’d found each other, since the beginning. Not because of fate, but a miracle of their very own.

“Maybe you aren’t.” Sam’s head snapped up at that. Wounded, almost.

“Maybe you aren’t real because Chuck decided this, or maybe you aren’t because the possibility is enough for her,” Dean gentled his voice but continued on. Sam needed to hear this.

And maybe Dean did too.

“But maybe you are. That’s up to Eileen to decide. You too, Sammy. You gotta lay out all the cards in the deck and make a call. And you decide if you’re real.”

Sam was still staring at him, and Hell if for a moment he didn’t look like a kid all of thirteen, smart and headstrong and full of belief in his big brother.

“Sometimes,” Dean let his breath out slow, and let an old memory wash over him even slower. “Sometimes we make it up as we go.”

Now, when Sam looks over at Dean and Cas with bags over their shoulders and no particular destination in mind, he smiles.

… 

They head West. 

Dean figures they’ll follow the warm weather. He asks if there’s anything Cas has been raring to see. He wonders if there’s any place Cas would want to go to on wheels rather than wings. Cas tilts his head for a moment in thought before answering. Always Cas, feathers or not. A feeling curves behind his ribs that’s not quite happy yet not quite sad.

“I thought sometimes about sharing the sight of the Grand Canyon with you.”

“Okay then,” Dean tucks his chin a little in an effort to tamp down on the smile coming on slow. He starts Baby, and leads them to the open road.

… 

An old folk song is playing on the radio. Dean makes no move to change it.

The singer croons, low and melancholy, but with something like hope on his mind.

_And how she’s flying with both feet on the ground_

Looking over, Dean sees Cas’ hair whipping up in the breeze like a tangle of feathers. Kind of how it used to look, so many years ago. 

Dean used to wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to reach across the divide and touch Castiel. If he even could at all. Or if Castiel was already gone, and just waiting for Dean to catch up.

But Cas is here. He’s here and alive and touchable. 

So Dean reaches over and takes his hand. The one Cas was resting on his thigh, idly drumming along to the music. So very human.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, exactly. Shock; open mouths and sharply drawn breath. Joy; shining eyes and those wide smiles that show his gums. Relief, maybe; shaky exhales and crumpling down into the seat like a puppet with its strings cut. Maybe even rejection; a gentle withdrawal and careful eyes.

But when he looks again, Cas is smiling, and it’s a quiet, comfortable thing. 

It says, _there you are_

_I’ve been waiting for you._

_Welcome Home_.

Eventually Dean has to turn his eyes back to the road, but he feels the weight of Cas’ gaze for the rest of the drive. It’s as familiar as his own heartbeat thudding in his chest or the draw of air into his lungs. A part of him. 

The radio stays on that station, and Dean’s hand stays in Castiel’s.

And Dean knows.

_I guess it’s a sequel to our story_

_From the journey ‘tween heaven and hell_

_With half the time thinking of what might have been_

_and half thinkin’ just as well_

…

When the sun starts to slant golden over Cas’ face they grab something to eat and pull into a motel for the night.

When the clerk asks if they want a double room or two singles, Dean answers instinctively and doesn’t regret it.

When Dean turns to look at Cas, he’s smiling again.

When Cas takes his hand and gently pulls him into the room, Dean goes; as simple as falling. 

…

There’s a moment where they just look at each other.

And Dean realizes something.

Cas no longer looks at him the way he looks at the sky.

The kind of look that only comes from a wistful longing that sweeps through your chest and carries you away. 

A yearning. 

There’s a different look in Cas’ eyes, one that Dean realizes was there all along.

No longer flying, but coming home just the same.

 _This is it_ , Dean thinks as he reaches out, cradles Cas’ cheek in his hand with all the wonder of discovering something not quite new. _This is the rest of my life_.

Dean wants to move closer, wants to kiss him.

So he does. For the simple act of wanting, and everything more.

Cas’ lips are warm, and a little too dry. He parts them on an easy sigh. And Dean is drawn in further and further. He crowds in even closer, closer still. Cas is reaching for him too, his arms rising and surrounding Dean like this is the space he was always meant to fill. 

Dean has a strange, kind of unsexy thought: kissing Cas is a little like coming home to the bunker after a long, exhausting day, and settling into a bed that remembers him. There’s no Dean shaped void left behind when he inevitably has to get up in the morning, but there’s always that perfect space for him to come home to.

 _Yeah_ , Dean thinks as Cas fits into all the hollow spaces and fills them with light, _kissing Cas is a little like that_.

They break a part for air without really needing it. Just letting the kiss settle deep into their bones for a moment. Their foreheads press together as they share a breath. Feel their pulses beat in a way that says, _I am human_ , and _I am alive_ , and _I love_.

Wanting to see the look on Cas’ face now, Dean tilts his face up. A slow smile begins rising on Cas’ face, until his gums are peeking through and his face shows all the smile-lines of age. In the coming years Dean will know and love each one. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse, with too many causes to name why.

“I know.”

“Did you just - Cas, did you just _Solo_ me?” He can’t help it, he snorts.

Cas just gives a soft huff, his laugh, and softly nudges his nose against Dean’s before backing off. Still smiling.

And Dean knows, he does, but that part of him he’ll always carry, that burrows deep and cold and hollows in his chest rises against the warmth that’s settled there. “Have - How long have you wanted this?”

“Dean,” his voice is gravel and steel. As firm and righteous as he ever was as an Angel. Cas will always hold Dean’s name safe in his mouth.*

“Dean,” his voice comes out softer now, and his hand settles on his shoulder. It is firm and grounding and ushers heat down into the very core of him, pushing back against the cold. Dean is overcome by something like Grace. “I found you and I was yours. And you were mine.”

…

“Do you regret it?” Dean will ask later that night. He’ll think of a room where an empty chair faced a bed that sometimes felt too big. He’ll think about the birds that go anywhere, everywhere, with nothing but the wind and their wings. He’ll ask it softly, so softly, as if afraid to disturb the gentleness of the dark.

He will feel the curve of a smile against his shoulder. A sigh that is wistful, maybe, but not sad.

And the answer will come.

_Regret it?_

_No._

_Not ever_.

And Dean will understand that Cas knows too.

He knows, and it’s alright.

Because Cas loves him too.

… 

In the morning Cas will watch the sky, with a hand that threads in his own in a perfect fit. Like it was always there. Always will be. 

Two ravens will circle each other with their feathers rising effortlessly on the wind. They will be watched together.

And when Cas smiles in a way that touches his eyes more than his face because he sees something beautiful, it won’t be the sky he’ll be looking at.

And it won’t be the sky that looks back.

. . .

_I guess only_

_Time_

_Will tell_

**Author's Note:**

> * “When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”  
> \- Billy, age 4, on love.
> 
> *Because Cas is now human, and because Jack is God and is fixing damage that has been wrought and Chuck's mistakes (when he's not visiting his family on Earth) the Empty deal is null. When he dies one day (very, very old, and with Dean) he will go to a new Heaven.
> 
> This is very late as a submission for the Monday 1 prompt. Even with me saying to myself, “oh boy, a whole week to re-draft and edit,” it still took me this long, haha. In my defense, I did catch a cold earlier in the week and am just getting over it today (not covid, I’m okay!). I managed to get it posted to tumblr before midnight PST, so I figure that counts for something!
> 
> I was also experimenting a bit with style and voice here, though wether it was a successful experiment is to be seen! This is very much a self indulgent fic in regards to purple prose and romance, lol. Yet also very halting in flow in some places (specifically the sentence structure).  
> In any case, it felt right for this story - a very specific voice for Dean here I don't normally use. He's usually far more casual and less descriptive. This brought out a lot of simile and metaphor and imagery I usually reserve for the mind-space of different characters. Also most of my writing is HEAVY on the dialogue so this is a different turn for me fhdjksl! I think i can count on two hands how many times actual dialogue gets spoken in this. I guess writing does what writing wants, man.
> 
> Credit to pray4jensen, bend-me-shape-me, and helianthus21 on tumblr for creating this event!
> 
> This was also posted to my tumblr @sunforgrace here:  
> https://sunforgrace.tumblr.com/post/615263525190975488/this-is-veeery-late-youll-have-to-excuse-me
> 
> * * *
> 
> Edit: Post Script:
> 
> Well.
> 
> I think it's safe to now say, my version of the ending for Dean and Castiel was not one that the writer's shared.
> 
> I had never really considered this fic to represent an Ending, in fact. But a Beginning.
> 
> I never expected that we would get any sort of textual confirmation that Dean and Cas' story is, indeed, one of love. To say that season 15 episode 18 meant a lot to me would be near diminishing in the simplicity of the phrase. The confirmation that yes, as Misha put it, "[we're] not crazy," and that he had indeed endeavored to represent the enduring love that Castiel holds for Dean, that we received Bobo Beren's beautiful writing and Jensen's dedicated, poignant acting and immense respect for telling this story, has soothed aches in this lgbt writer's heart that I had forgotten were there. 
> 
> However, unfortunately for one reason or another, or multiple, and with the awareness that we'll likely never know, the love story that has been told for many years and finally received textuality within it's climax in episode 18, did not culminate in the ending that either these characters or we that have loved them deserved.
> 
> These two wonderful, wonderful characters deserved better. You, the dedicated readers and writers, deserved better. To paraphrase poor Adam, there are times we don't get what we deserve. And we carry on, because we must. And we will carry on together. And these characters will always carry on in our hearts. And indeed, carry on the way they truly deserved, rather than what Carry On provided.
> 
> If you're searching for comfort in this time through fanfiction, I completely understand and am right there with you. I don't intend to be presumptuous, but I hope that if you've come across this speculative ending fic written during the quarantine hiatus - when there were so many possibilities and we could see this love so clearly even without Cas' confession and Misha's confirmation that Cas has loved Dean for years, that I could provide some of that comfort. These two characters, who have been cherished within fandom for so long, deserved better. They deserved the happiness in the being, and the happiness in the having.
> 
> I will not stop writing. And I hope to come back with more stories for these two characters who will always be in our hearts; both through entirely new adventures in different worlds (where other Cas' get to have that crack in their chassis, or perhaps get to experience being something other than an Angel entirely <3) and within the world of the Cas and Dean we came to love so dearly. This ending will not keep me from exploring the story of their love at different times and in different ways within this world, or in giving them the ending I had hoped for them, or working with the canon ending to allow them to finally have the true happiness they both deserved to share with one another.
> 
> Much love to you all. <3 Thank you for allowing me to share my words with you, and for reading them. I hope to share even more in the future.  
> 


End file.
